Chasing Fire

embraced the madness, the moment, punch, kick, elbow strike, as he scented blood, tasted his own.
    He felt something crunch under his fist, heard the whoosh of expelled air as his foot slammed into belly fat. Someone dropped to his knees and gagged after his elbow jabbed an exposed throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Gull saw Dobie had managed to gain his feet and limped over to the retching man to deliver a solid kick in the ribs.
    One of the others tried to run. Gull caught him, flung him so he skidded face-first over the gravel.
    He didn’t clearly remember knocking the big guy down, getting on top of him, but it took three of his fellow jumpers to pull him off.
    “He’s had enough. He’s out.” Little Bear’s voice penetrated that buzz of rage. “Ease off, Gull.”
    “Okay. I’m good.” Gull held up a hand to signal he was done. As the grips on him loosened, he looked over at Dobie.
    His friend sat on the ground surrounded by other jumpers, a few of the local women. His face and shirtfront were both a bloody mess, and his right eye was swollen shut.
    “Did a number on you, pal,” Gull commented. Then he saw the dark stain on Dobie’s right pant leg, and the dripping pool. “Christ! Did they knife you?”
    Before Gull reached him, Dobie two-fingered a broken bottle of Tabasco out of his pocket. “Nah. Busted this when I went down. Got a few nicks is all, and a waste of good Tabasco.”
    L.B. crouched to get a better look at Dobie. “You carry Tabasco in your pocket?”
    “Where else would I carry it?”
    Shaking his head, Gull sat back on his heels. “He dumps it on everything.”
    “Damn right.” To prove it, Dobie shook out the little left on the ass of one of the semiconscious men. “I came out for a little air, and the three of them jumped me. Laying for me—or any of us, I reckon. You sure came along at the right time,” he said to Gull. “You know kung fu or some shit?”
    “Something like that. Better go get patched up.”
    “Oh, I’m okay.”
    Rowan moved through, crouched in front of Dobie. “They wouldn’t have gone after you if they hadn’t been pissed at me. Do me a favor, okay? Go get patched up so I don’t have to feel guilty.” Then she leaned over, kissed his bruised and bloody cheek. “I’ll owe you.”
    “Well . . . if it’ll make you feel better.”
    “Do you want me to call the law?” Big Nate asked him.
    Dobie studied the three men, shrugged. “Looks to me more like they need an ambulance.” He shrugged again. “I don’t care if they go to jail, to fiery hell or back wherever they came from.”
    “All right then.” Big Nate stepped over, toed the man sitting up nursing his face in his hands. “You fit to drive?” When the man managed a nod, Big Nate toed him again a little harder. “You’re going to get in your truck with the fuckers you travel with. You’re going to drive, and keep on driving. If I see you around my place or any other place I happen to be, you’re going to wish to God almighty I had called the law. Now get off my property.”
    To expedite the matter, several of the men hoisted the barely conscious big guy and his moaning companions into the truck, then stood like a wall until it drove away.
    Gull received a number of shoulder and back slaps, countless offers of a drink. He wisely accepted all of them to avoid an argument as he watched Libby, Cards and Gibbons help Dobie into one of the vans.
    “Do you want a doc to look you over?” Little Bear asked him.
    “No. I’ve had worse falling out of bed.”
    Little Bear watched the van as Gull did. “He’ll be all right. It takes more than three assholes to down a smoke jumper.” He gave Gull a last shoulder slap, then turned back toward the bar when the van pulled out of the lot.
    Gull stayed where he was, trying to reach for his calm again. He knew it was in there, somewhere, but at the moment, elusive.
    “Is this yours?”
    He turned to see Rowan holding his cigar.
    “Yeah. I guess I dropped it.”
    “Butterfingers.” She took a few puffs until the tip glowed true again, then helped herself to one long, deep drag. “Prime cigar, too,” she added, then offered it back. “Shame to waste it.”
    Gull took it, studied it. “That’s it,” he decided.
    He flung it down again and, grabbing her, yanked her against him. “That’s it,” he repeated before his mouth crushed down on hers.
    A man could only take so much stimulation before demanding release.
    She slapped